Chapter 2: Karma's Haight

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     "Dogman, I see you've found your spot" I quote from my ratty copy of The Teachings of a Don Juan that's circulating around the street.

"I guess you could say that" he laughs from the curb at the intersection of Haight and Ashbury, a smile almost hidden behind curly black beard, merry blue eyes catching mine. "I was praying to your African water goddess that you'd find me here."

"That didn't work for Bobby Kennedy" I counter fighting a sniffle. "But I'm glad it did for finding you."

"Nice town you got here, although I don't see any dancing in the street."

"Come on, there's a happening over in Panhandle Park" I urge, reaching a hand to help him up. "The  word is that Hendrix might be there."

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     I had come to San Francisco a week before by hitchhiking across the country right after junior year at Bound Brook High School. It was treacherous that first day going up route 287 in New Jersey. This creepy old guy kept putting his hand next to my thigh until I told him to let me out to meet my father at the state police headquarters at the intersection with 202/206. But once I hit interstate 80 it was clear sailing in one VW after another. It seemed the entire eastern seaboard hippy population was heading west, and they knew how to make a road trip a party: An all-night jam on Chicago's Navy Pier; getting high for the slow sunset at Pawnee Grassland; skinny dipping in a hot spring at the foot of the Rockies; dodging scorpions while huddled under blankets along the Great Salt Lake. We pulled into the Haight at midnight to cheers, skinny but ecstatic to join the revolution that had emerged out of last year's summer of love.

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     "Hold on honky" commands one of the two large black men blocking the sidewalk into the park. "You packing under that uniform?"

"Dogman's cool" I call out as he holds up his hands to be frisked. "Its National Park Service and we're here for the rally."

"Down boy" smiles the other guy waving us through with a revolver as two big black birds caw from up in a California lilac tree lining the path.

     I edge my way through the milling crowd craning to see the stage at the center of the park.

"I do not think that life will change for the better without an assault on the Establishment, which goes on exploiting the wretched of the earth" proclaims a striking man wearing a black beret that barely contains his overflowing Afro.

A chorus of "hallelujah brother" rings through the audience.

"Dave Dolman" whispers a bespectacled guy in a striped buttondown squeezing between us. "This is the last place I would have expected to see my favorite former student."

"Dr. Grand, what a surprise" exclaims Dogman.

"They're here to demand some changes at the school" explains the professor from San Francisco State College. "I want to help make that happen."

"This belief lies at the heart of the concept of revolutionary suicide" booms the speaker to a round of right ons from the crowd.

"This is my new friend Karma" Dogman recovers, reaching over to hold my hand.

"Ian Grand" he smiles, reaching around to give me a squeeze. "What do you think of the leader of the Black Panther Party For Self Defense?"

"He really is right on" I whisper into his ear. "The blacks are treated like second class citizens in my hometown."

"Thus it is better to oppose the forces that would drive me to self-murder than to endure them" concludes Newton as cheers erupt all around us.

"Interesting observation young lady" calls Dr. Grand as a band moves onto the stage and a hush descends on the crowd. "I'm starting a new Center for Ethnic Studies at the college and could use an insightful student like you."